


Conflict of interest

by DracoIgnis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Sex, Angry boi Jon, Arguing, Attorney Daenerys, Consensual Sex, Doggy Style, F/M, Face-Fucking, Groping, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sarcasm, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis
Summary: Jon's divorce from Ygritte was tiresome enough without her hiring the smart, sexy attorney Daenerys. After a bad meeting, Jon barges into Daenerys' office to tell her exactly how he feels about her representing his ex-wife - and things get heated.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 106
Kudos: 590





	Conflict of interest

By the time Ygritte puts on her sunglasses, Jon knows it’s too late. Her flat nose trembles. The sides of her lips tug downwards. To everyone else in the room, she looks like a woman desperate to keep her emotions at bay. Why would she be putting on her shades if not to cover up those baby-blue eyes welled with tears? Jon knows why. He’s seen the dirty trick before, and he can tell that the strain in her neck is not caused by an overwhelming need to weep.

_No,_ Jon thinks, watching from the other side of the table as Ygritte’s attorney leans in and whispers words of comfort in her ear. _She’s trying to stop herself from punching me in the face._

Jon always sensed his marriage to Ygritte would eventually end in divorce. In fact, he only wed thinking the turbulent conclusion was sure to come soon. He never expected it to last three years. _I underestimated her persistence,_ he thinks and watches as his ex-wife forces a sob past her quivering lips. He almost admires her. _She’s a good actress._

“How can you even think of selling the house?” Ygritte asks. She’s pulling paper towels from a box on the table. She grabs five at a time, wipes her dry cheeks, then grabs some more. “You know I love that house. It’s the only place I can imagine growing old.”

“That’s what you said about the _other_ house,” Jon reminds her. “You can’t expect to keep both properties.”

“Why not? You never liked either!”

“Mr Snow still contributed toward the mortgage,” Jon’s attorney points out, his voice dry and tired. Jon is surprised to hear him say anything. As they entered the room, it seemed Jorah Mormont decided to take a vow of silence. The only time he’s heard him speak was when shaking hands with Ygritte’s attorney, and all he managed to mutter was: “It’s good to see you.” Not a statement Jon can fault - as he looks in the woman’s direction, he decides that there’s no day in the year it wouldn’t be good to see Miss Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys has the kind of face you would expect to see on a toothpaste commercial; her skin looks airbrushed, her eyes are glimmering, and her front teeth shine white as they rest on her plump lower lip. She’s a little too flawless, and so her every move is a source of admiration and irritation all at once. The way she purses her lips to blow a lock of hair out of her face, the way she corrects her golden-framed glasses with the tips of her pink nails, the way she sits perfectly straight in her chair - it all makes Jon’s upper-lip shake.

He grabs his cup of coffee and has a swig. It was poured three hours ago and has gone cold. The stale taste makes him grimace.

Ygritte all but jumps to her feet. “Don’t you make faces at me!” she warns in a sharp voice before turning to Daenerys. “This is what I meant when I talked about him disrespecting me.”

“There’s no need for hostilities,” Daenerys says, though she doesn’t look at anyone in particular as she speaks. She corrects her white shirt. In the soft afternoon glow falling through the window, Jon can just see the outline of her bra underneath. “The grounds for divorce have already been discussed and agreed upon.”

“I don’t think they fully clarify to the judge the breakdown of our marriage,” Ygritte scoffs and slumps back down in her chair.

“She’s got a point,” Jon says. Even from behind the shades, he can tell that Ygritte is glaring at him. _It doesn’t matter if we agree,_ Jon knows and grits his teeth. He almost wishes he had a pair of sunglasses too, because he’s sure he’s shooting daggers right back at her. _We’re far past talking. There’s only arguing left._ “I don’t think _unreasonable behaviour_ really explains the truth.”

“Well, Mr Snow,” Daenerys says, her nails tapping to her glasses as she pushes them back up her nose, “you have not been living apart, and you have not deserted each other, so I’m afraid you haven’t got much choice in this matter.”

“There’s adultery,” he points out.

Daenerys’ voice is soft as silk as she asks: “Are you admitting to engaging in a sexual relationship outside of your marriage?”

Jon’s cheeks go bright red. Before he can reply, Jorah leans in as if in a courtroom movie and heatedly whispers: “Don’t say yes!”

“I know that!” Jon growls at the man before turning back to Daenerys. “No, I will not admit that. It would be untrue. She, however-” Jon points toward Ygritte whose face is looking more red than her wild hair, “-she’s seen her share of men.”

“Liar,” Ygritte says, her hands clenched to fists on the table.

“Tormund?” Jon asks.

“A friend.”

“Ryk?”

“A friend.”

“You’ve got a lot of friends,” Jon says.

For the first time that day, Ygritte smiles. “I know that’s a foreign concept to you, Jon. I won’t hold it against you.” She folds her arms and leans back in the chair as she exclaims: “I want the car.”

Jon waves his hand dismissively. “Have it,” he sighs. He couldn’t care less about driving around in a Porsche. A glance at Daenerys’ trim blue suit reminds him of the glimmering Ferrari the Starks gifted them for their wedding, and he adds: “Take both of them.” He can tell he’s caught Ygritte mid-thought - her lips part in surprise. If he wasn’t giving away possessions, he would almost feel smug. “I just want this divorce settled.”

“Admirable,” Daenerys says. She’s taking notes as they speak. Somehow, it bothers Jon. “As for the properties-?”

Jon stares at Ygritte. There’s a tense pause in the room. For a moment, he sees his future: penniless, homeless, robbed of all but his old dog. He senses that he entered the meeting room as a man of worth, and that he’s about to exit it with less than his little sister Arya’s got in her piggy bank. But he feels tired. He feels at fault; he stayed when he should’ve walked, and he walked when he should’ve run. For once, his stepmother was right: Ygritte would cause him nothing but grief, and he wallowed in self-pity for far longer than was necessary.

Jorah is saying something in his ear, but Jon doesn’t care to listen. As Daenerys’ brows rise questioningly, Jon says: “She can have them.”

Ygritte looks at a loss. She peels off her shades and stares at Jon.

“Well,” Daenerys quips, “considering the pension sharing order that was agreed last week, I’d say we’re all set to-”

“I want the dog.”

Jon’s heart skips a beat. He feels his face whiten as he sends his ex-wife an incredulous look. “You’re kidding.” Something inside of Jon’s head shifts. There’s a ringing in his ears. As he watches Ygritte twist and turn herself into a comfortable position, he feels a warmth spread across his body. _Anger._

Ygritte takes in a deep breath as she confidently pushes out her chest. “I want the dog,” she says again.

“His name is Ghost,” Jon says slowly, “and he’s mine.” His voice is heavy with warning, but it only fuels Ygritte’s spite.

She makes a show of clutching her hand to her chest as she turns to Daenerys. Her blue eyes soften. “The dog loves me,” she says. “It would be cruel to separate us.”

“When he pissed in your wardrobe, you threatened to have him put down!” Jon sneers.

Ygritte continues: “We should think of what would be best for the dog. Jon is about to have no property. You can’t send the poor creature to live on the street.”

“You stay the fuck away from Ghost!” Jon hasn’t even realised that he’s stood up. His body is shivering with fury, and when he leans in over the table, he can’t stop his voice from rising. He knows he’s making a mistake. He knows what Ygritte made him agree to; that their divorce is partially due to his anger issues. As he stands, broad and flushed, his hands turning white as he leans his whole weight onto them, he’s painfully aware of how he’s playing into his ex-wife’s little scheme.

But money is one thing. The dog is family - and Jon will fight himself bloody for Ghost.

Jorah puts his hand on Jon’s arm. “Sit down,” he begs.

Ygritte smirks. “Sit down,” she mocks.

Out of the corners of his eyes, Jon can see Daenerys shuffle in her seat. Her face is perfectly plain, not giving away an ounce of emotion, but her nails tap impatiently across the tabletop. “Ygritte,” she says, her voice polite as she pushes her paperwork toward her, “look, a good deal is already on the table. It would be foolish to fight over an animal.”

“Ghost is not just some _animal,_ ” Jon says, his voice heated, but Daenerys cuts him off:

“In the eyes of the law, Mr Snow, he’s certainly not treated as a child.”

Ygritte whimpers. “He’s like a child to me!” She reaches for the tissues, but Jon flings the box off the table.

“This is rubbish!” he shouts, his heart in his throat.

Ygritte stands and snatches her sunglasses off the table. “This is war,” she hisses, tapping them to Jon’s chest as she stares into his eyes. Her brows are knitted together. Her breathing is slightly quickened. To the attorneys, she must look on edge. But in her blue eyes, Jon can see something else; malice. Before she puts the shades on, she makes sure to wink at him. “I’ll see you in court!” she exclaims, and she strolls out of the meeting room with an air of importance around her.

Jon feels like he’s part of a daytime TV show. He can almost hear the pre-recorded applause sound being played as the door shuts behind her, leaving the three of them in silence.

Daenerys clears her throat as she starts gathering her paperwork together. “Well, gentlemen,” she says and looks at them, her eyes blank, “it seems my client has decided that a round table meeting is not in her favour.”

Jon gives her a hard glare. “She’s not getting the dog,” he says, his voice still angry, but it seems to have no effect on Daenerys. She merely closes her folder, pushes in her chair, and looks toward Jorah.

“You will hear from my secretary,” she says. “Should I show you the way out?”

* * *

Daenerys has barely left the lobby before Jorah finds himself unable to shut up. As he starts blabbering, Jon stares at his attorney aghast, wondering if the man was swapped with a look-alike when he wasn’t paying attention.

“You need leverage,” Jorah says, his voice stern, “you can’t just give away big value items like a car. Don’t think of the vehicle as something you want - think of it as your goal toward something you _do_ want.” He buttons up his suit jacket as he looks out of the windows. It’s wet outside. The rain hammers against the glass ceiling above. “Your wife is nuts.”

“Ex-wife,” Jon points out whilst still staring at Jorah. “Did you just realise that you’re my attorney? I needed back-up in there!” He gestures toward the meeting room they’ve just exited.

Jorah chews on his inner cheek. “I knew your wife-”

“Ex wife.”

“-chose to go with the Targaryens,” Jorah says, glancing around at the red sofas and golden carpet. In big letters across the floor, it reads: TARGARYEN LAW LLP. “But I never expected it to be _her._ ” He pauses and looks at Jon and, just before Jon can ask anything else, admits: “Miss Targaryen and I go way back.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jon throws up his hands and turns his back on the reception as the girl behind the screen sends him a look. Ygritte has already infuriated him, but Jorah’s admission just makes him feel exhausted. As he pushes his hands into his black curly hair, he stares out of the window and thinks: _What the hell am I going to do?_

Five years he’s spent with Ygritte. Five years of eating cold cereal for dinner, watching movies he didn’t care for, dancing in clubs when he wanted to sleep. Five years of doing things her way, and now he is ready to do things _his_ way - _but even my fucking divorce attorney is under the spell of another woman._

Jon glares at Jorah. He glares at the receptionist. Then, he takes in a deep breath and sets off in the direction of Daenerys’ office.

“Jon!” Jorah calls. “It won’t have an impact on my professionalism, I promise!” But Jon is no longer listening. His eyes are staring ahead, his heart is pounding in his chest, and his steps are long and calculated as he strolls down the hallway.

The moment Jon rounds the corner, Daenerys’ secretary spots him. He recognises her as the woman who brought him the awful coffee. He realises that she probably recognises him as a threat the way he comes storming past her desk, even as she yells: “Excuse me!” Her black curls are pulled in by a shiny headset. She’s holding her hand over the microphone as she calls after him: “Excuse me, Sir, do you have an appointment?”

Jon grabs the handle, swings the door open, and steps over the threshold to Daenerys’ office. It’s a square, white room with little in the way of furnishing and way too many plants; spider plants, aloe vera, and potted ficus wherever he looks. It feels like a greenhouse. Fittingly, the back wall is a row of floor-to-ceiling windows. In front of them, behind a simple oak desk, sits Daenerys.

Her violet eyes snap up to meet his, and Jon stops, his hand still on the handle, as Daenerys’ secretary pushes her way past him. “I’m so sorry,” she pants, staring between her boss and Jon. “Should I call security?”

Daenerys’ smile is perfectly pleasant. “It’s okay, Missi, I can take it from here,” she says. She nods at her secretary who, after giving Jon a peculiar glare, slips out of the room. She doesn’t close the door behind, but Jon does - he thrusts it shut as he turns to face Daenerys.

“How do you sleep at night?” he sneers.

Daenerys leans back in her chair. It’s large, and covered in red leather. Her pale skin and silver hair stands out against the dark colour. Jon can only assume she feels powerful, because her face is once more expressionless. “You didn’t come to discuss my sleeping habits, I’m sure.”

“You know it’s wrong,” Jon says as he strides toward her desk. It’s meticulously arranged, he notes. Three pens - black, red, and blue -, one notepad, a single folder with papers, a phone, and her laptop. There are no pictures of smiling children, or ‘Best Boss’-mugs. It’s so impersonal Jon could feel sorry for the woman if she hadn’t just tried to deprive him of everything. “Ygritte is going to put me on the street, and you know it’s wrong.”

“I work with the law, Mr Snow, not my emotions,” Daenerys says, smacking her lips a little as she speaks. “I cannot discuss this with you further. I suggest you speak to your own attorney.”

Jon snorts. “What, the one you’ve fucked?” he asks haughtily. He can see his words bother Daenerys - finally, something seems to shift in her eyes. He just can’t pinpoint what it is.

She slowly peels off her glasses and rubs her brows as if tired. “Mr Mormont and I have not had any relations, I can assure you of that.”

“Well, he seems to be of a different opinion. Should we take it to court? That seems to be how this office works,” Jon says with a sneer to his voice. His heart is pounding. His mouth feels parched from his quick breathing. If he doesn’t calm down soon, he knows he’ll start seeing spots in front of his eyes. Ygritte has her faults, but one thing she’s got right: if provoked, Jon’s fury knows no limits.

Daenerys is eyeing him, and Jon feels like she’s seizing him up. Her fingernails tap across her desk. He watches to see if they go near her phone - _will she call for security after all?_ \- but they stay close to her notepad. “You’re an angry man, Mr Snow,” she says after a pause.

Jon smashes his fists to her desk. “Of course I’m angry!” he shouts. If he expected a reaction, he’s disappointed - Daenerys doesn’t even blink. Even as her pens roll off the oak and scatter to the floor, she just sits and watches him.

“Do you want some free advice?” she asks.

Jon’s muscles are shivering from straining. He slowly pulls his hands off her desk as he gives her a stubborn look. “I know whose side you’re on,” he says.

“Your wife is going to take you to court,” Daenerys says.

Jon feels like it’s the hundredth time that day that he points out: “Ex-wife.”

“Not yet. Not in the eyes of the law,” Daenerys says. She stands up, her fingertips lingering on the tabletop as she leans in over it to eye him more closely. “Your wife,” she starts, whether to provoke a reaction or not Jon can’t tell, but this time he stays quiet, “will take you to court. She will demand everything you own, and she will get it, because you don’t know how to control yourself.”

Jon mimics her - he leans onto the desk, staring into her violet eyes as he whispers: “I gave her everything. Cars, houses - _everything._ ”

“She wants your dog,” Daenerys points out.

Jon’s whisper turns more heated. “Ghost is _mine_ ,” he speaks through gritted teeth.

Daenerys shakes her head a little. She straightens up and walks around the desk, stopping by Jon’s side. It’s only then, as he looks down at her, that he realises she’s an inch shorter than him - and that’s in heels. As he turns to her, her frame seems awfully small next to his broader stature. Her silver hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, probably as a sign of professionalism as he can tell the tips are curled. It’s obvious to him that she normally wears it loose.

Daenerys pushes her golden glasses back up her nose and looks at him from above the rim. “Your dog will be hers too if you lose your temper,” she says and raises her hand. Jon presumes it’s in order to shake goodbye - but instead she pushes it forward and slams her palm to his chest.

Jon stumbles a step back in surprise. “What the fuck was that for?” he asks, unable to control his language. He’s shocked, even more so as she forcefully gives his chest another push. This time, he steps back voluntarily - she’s not strong enough to make him, but he’s too aghast to resist.

“You need to lose your temper,” Daenerys says, and she slams both her palms to his stomach, making Jon stumble toward the wall. “You need to release that anger inside of you.”

“You’re not making me less angry,” Jon grunts. With every push, he moves a step back, and she takes one forward. Soon, he’s pressed against the door, her hands on his chest, but even with his body trapped to the wood, she raises her palms for another shove. But this time, Jon grabs her by the wrists before she can hit him. His fingertips dig into her soft flesh. He can already see her pale skin turn pink. “I said, _you’re making me angry!_ ”

Daenerys looks into his eyes. Her face is no longer blank. This time, it’s brimming with provocation. “And I said,” she says, her voice low as she pauses at every word: “ _Release. That. Anger._ ”

Jon flips them around. Daenerys’ hands hammer to the door as Jon traps her tight to the wood. His body is pressed to hers; he is hard, his every muscle tense, but she is soft like water. Her breasts flatten against him. Her knees buckle in her tight skirt. Jon decides that she wears it to purposely draw attention to her rounded hips. She has the kind of legs any man would love wrapped around his face.

She tries to speak but Jon silences her with his mouth. The kiss is insistent, demanding - his tongue doesn’t beg entrance, it gains it, and he swallows every whimpering moan from her.

Jon knows something inside of him has clicked. It’s like turning off the light. You see it all clearly, and then you don’t, and you can either fumble your way through the dark, or claim it as your own. And Jon is tired of stumbling.

“Oh my God,” Daenerys gasps as he pulls away. Her breathing is warm and wet against his lips. As he presses a row of rough kisses down her neck, he can feel her pulse throbbing under her skin. Her heartbeat seems to echo in the room. “My secretary will hear us.”

It’s meant as a warning. Jon takes it as an invitation; he claims both of her wrists in one hand and slams them over her head, making the door rock with a bang. His other hand drags down the front of her shirt. When he presses the fabric flat around her bosom, he can see the outline of her bra again. It’s pale pink. _What woman wears pink with a white shirt?_ Jon wonders before staring into Daenerys’ keen eyes and realising: _Someone who wants to be seen._

Jon’s hand shortly lingers at the collar of her shirt. His fingertips dig in around the fabric. Then, he pulls downwards and tears it wide open. Buttons scatter across the floor. Daenerys gasps:

“That was expensive!”

“I’d buy you a new one,” Jon says, his hand pressing in around one of her breasts. He leans in, his eyes narrowed as he stares her down, “but it looks like I just lost everything.” Saying it out loud fuels his temper. He can feel his fingertips buzz, his breath quicken, and soon he’s kissing her again, claiming her mouth as his own.

Daenerys wriggles against him. The higher he pushes her wrists, the more she has to tip-toe in her heels. When he lets go of her hands, she sinks her arms around his neck and draws him closer, the kiss growing more passionate. Her hands drag down his back, then his front. She searches every inch of his body, her movements desperate.

For a moment, he lets her touch him. It feels good, he decides, to be touched by someone who wants you. He can’t remember Ygritte doing it once. She was always distant when they fucked, as if she was taking on a role for the purpose of intercourse. Their sex was intermittent and dull at best. She made him forget what being excited feels like - but Daenerys is reminding him.

When she touches his shoulders and his pecs, he feels her trembling, and when she pushes her fingertips in between the buttons of his shirt, he knows she wants more of him. _But not yet._

Jon reaches around and wraps her ponytail around his hand. When he pulls, she follows, and he easily drags her toward the floor. All the way down, her lips brush across the front of his shirt. She leaves a trail of pink lipstick.

Jon unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers. His gaze never leaves hers. Her cheek is pressed to his leg, her violet eyes stare up at him. The gold rimmed glasses seem to shine in the light from above. He guesses they must be designer frames. He can’t wait to wreck them.

“Why did you take her case?” Jon asks as he pushes his hand into his pants. His cock is rock-hard. The fabric has a wet spot from where his pre-cum has leaked. “You must have known she was trouble.”

“I like trouble,” Daenerys says. There’s a twitch to her eyes. He can tell she wants to look at his groin, but she maintains eye-contact. _Like a true professional._ “Troublesome clients create chaos, and chaos drags out a case, and a long case-”

“-means more money,” Jon grunts. His fingers wrap around his shaft and he pulls himself free. His skin is hot, but the air in the office feels humid. Perhaps it’s because of the plants, or maybe the way Daenerys breathes in the direction of his cock. He feels droplets of sweat drag down his back. The suit isn’t made for fucking. “You’re unethical,” he decides.

Daenerys chuckles: “I’m an attorn-” and his cock pushes in between her luscious lips, her words becoming a mumble around his member. When her mouth sucks closed around his throbbing cockhead, all he cares about is how she makes him feel.

Their kiss was wet, but his cock in her mouth seems to make her drool. As he nudges her face closer by the hair, she engulfs more of him into her small heat. A cough rolls a string of spit down the bottom of her lip. Every sound from her is a vibration in his shaft, and Jon encourages it along by speaking.

“You’re a scam,” he says, and as expected she tries to protest. Her mumbling makes him groan with delight, and he uses her hair to keep her in place as he rocks himself into her wet mouth. “I should’ve known - all attorneys are untrustworthy.”

Daenerys can’t speak, but she gets her own form of revenge - her fingernails push past his open trousers and dig into the soft skin of his legs. When he hisses in surprise, she winks up at him. He can almost hear her say: _And yet here you are._

“And yet, here I am,” Jon grumbles. He takes a step forward. Daenerys’ back arches as she leans back, his cock still embedded in her mouth. He takes another step, one foot on either side of her, and by now she has to let go of his legs and let her hands drop behind her not to fall. As she steadies herself on her hands, he can see it dawn in her eyes - he now has full control again.

Jon starts rocking into her mouth at a slow pace. She meets his member with eager sucking. When he pushes in, her cheeks suck tight around him, lathering his whole length with her spit, and when he drags out, her small tongue brushes across his vein, making his cockhead drip pre-cum. He leaves it like that for a minute or two until her mouth is overflowing. Then, the next time he thrusts in, he pulls her head forward in the same, and her surprised gasp causes all the liquids to spill down her chin at once.

Daenerys gurgles. Jon moans at the image before him; flushed cheeks, lips stretched, glimmering eyes, breasts barely contained by her bra, knees kept together by the fabric of her skirt. He wishes Ygritte could see her attorney now. The thought alone makes him more excited, and he picks up the pace as he starts fucking Daenerys’ mouth with more vigour.

Wet sounds echo in the room. It’s a slurping, gagging, delicious noise that makes Jon’s skin prickle. He lets go of her hair to shrug out of his suit jacket. She doesn’t even stop - her head continues to bob up and down, making his length glisten with spit. She’s working so hard her breathing is becoming heavy, and her glasses are fogging up. By the time Jon’s hands grab her face, he can barely see the violet colour of her eyes through the dampness.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, his thumbs brushing to the corners of her mouth. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he entered her office - not a blowjob, certainly not sex. But now he wants it. He wants all of her.

His words seem to please Daenerys; her lashes flutter, and her pacing picks up. If she sucks much harder, he imagines himself slipping into her tight throat. Part of him would love to, but he’s too impatient to get a hold of her cunt. Before she can entice him, he lets go, steps back, and watches as his cock slips from her lips.

A string of spits snaps between them. Daenerys’ mouth falls open as she gasps for air. Still, her pink tongue darts around her lips as if she wants to gather every last taste of him. “You need anger management,” she pants and reaches around for her ponytail. She slips the elastic band off and ruffles up her locks. They tumble around her shoulders.

Jon watches her as he pulls his tie-knot loose. He didn’t realise just how much space he needed to breathe. With his heart in his throat, he finds it hard to fill his lungs, and it’s only when he pops open the top button of his collar that he can regain his voice. “No,” he says simply, and he walks up behind her, places his hands on her shoulders, and then pushes her forward onto all fours. The sight of her arse alone makes him hot. He has to pull his tie off completely. “No, I need a fuck.”

Just like his jacket, he throws it aside. Daenerys’ heels are on the floor. He kicks them out of the way before stepping close to her, then he reaches down, grabs the fabric of her skirt, and pulls it up over her arse.

Daenerys rests on her elbows as she glances back at him. Her glasses are askew, and her eyes are dark with lust. “Been a while?” she asks and, as it doesn’t earn her much of a reaction, she adds: “How was your wife in bed?”

“ _Ex-wife,_ ” Jon grimaces. He can’t help himself - he pinches in around the flesh of Daenerys’ buttocks, pulls her shiny black tights back, and tears them open in the middle.

It makes Daenerys gasp in surprise and slip to the floor, her cheek pressing to the rough carpet. “You’re making a mess of me!” she points out.

When Jon glances across her, he can only agree. Her clothes are torn and crinkled, her face is ruddy and wet, and her skimpy knickers are now on display, the fabric incredibly wet as he touches it. _She likes it,_ Jon knows, his fingers rubbing through the flimsy cloth, _she wants to be out of control._

Ygritte was always in control. All her decisions were final. In the first year of their marriage, Jon grew tired of arguing and just let her have things her way. It was what he wanted, he knew. Misery. He wed into torment, assured he deserved no better and would come out stronger on the other end.

_But instead I’ve become bitter and angry,_ Jon thinks, his fingertips plunging under the fabric and in between Daenerys’ wet labia. They spread for him with ease. When he sinks a finger into her tight inners, he meets no resistance.

“Oh fuck,” Daenerys whispers. Her nails are scratching across the floor. The threads of the carpet snap.

“You like that, huh?” Jon asks and pushes another finger into her. Her cunt is sopping, and warmer than her mouth. He starts building up a pace with his hand, using his two fingers to fuck her as he leans forward. He’s partially kneeling behind her, partially hovering over her. She looks small. His shadow falls across her whole frame. He realises that he wants to fuck her sore.

Daenerys purrs to the carpet: “I’d like it better if it was your cock, Mr Snow.” If she’s looking at him, he doubts she can see much - her glasses are far off her nose, partially embedded in her silver hair, and her lashes are fluttering as if she can’t decide whether to close her eyes or take him in. In the end, as his thumb brushes across her nub, she closes them tight and moans: “Oh, just fuck me already!”

“No please?” Jon slips his hand free of her sex and smacks her behind. She yelps in surprise, and the sound makes him shiver with want. He raises his hand again, gives her arse a few continuous smacks as she arches her back even more, forcing her buttocks high up as if offering them to him.

“Oh, God, don’t make me beg,” Daenerys says, those words in themselves sounding like a plea. Her voice is pitched. It makes Jon’s cock throb - and he has no desire to stop.

Jon grabs a hold of her small waist with one hand as he spanks her arse with the other. His palm is rough, and it hits her flesh with a sharp noise. Every hit makes her skin flush redder. As Daenerys moans, his cock bobs hard between his legs. He wants to take her - but she needs to ask first.

One more hit. Daenerys groans: “Come on, Mr Snow, please just fuck me!” She’s blushing furiously. Jon gathers she’s ashamed at the situation and her own desires.

It’s all he needs; he grabs his cock, positions himself behind her as he pulls her knickers to the side, and then he pushes himself into her cunt. She opens up for him, at first wetly and with ease, then with tightness and heat. Her inners squeeze him. His length throbs. He grabs a hold of her arse to steady himself as he gasps in air.

_Fuck_. Jon lingers with his whole cock inside of her, his balls nestled to the softness of her skin. _Fuck, she’s tight._ He feels surrounded. Her labia tugs at his base. It’s like she’s involuntarily teasing him to grind closer. So he does; he rubs himself to her as he feels her body clench.

“Ohh fuck,” Daenerys moans to the carpet. Her nose is buried in it. Jon can only imagine what it smells like - shoeshine, the rubbery stench from a vacuum cleaner perhaps. Certainly not cunt. But it’s going to smell of it soon, because she’s dripping, and when he pulls out and slams back into her, jerking her body forward, juices fling through the air.

At first, Jon is experimental, feeling his way inside of her with his cockhead. He softly fucks her, rams into her, grinds at an angle and then, once he finds a position that makes her moan, holds her by the waist and starts working up a pace. Sweat is dripping down his forehead. His muscles shiver tensely. He has needed a good, rough fuck for a while, and now that he has it, he can’t believe he’s denied himself the pleasure for so long.

_Fuck my ex-wife,_ Jon thinks as he watches Daenerys - her hair spilling across the floor, her breasts swinging as her pink nipples peek free of her bra, her arse shining brightly pink. _Fuck Ygritte. She can have it all. But she won’t have me._

It’s like he realises it at once. It’s not about money. Her dad has money. Her friends have money. She has money. She doesn’t care for the cars or the houses. She cares for him. She wants to be able to control him and hurt him. She wants to be able to manipulate him. But she won’t anymore.

As it dawns on him, he feels free. The light is turned back on. He can see his way forward - and it fills him with excitement.

“Fuck!” Jon’s hands slip across her skin. She’s working up a sweat too. Her pale skin shimmers. Instead of clenching her skin, he reaches up, grabs a hold of her silver locks, and wraps them around his hands as he pulls her head back.

Daenerys lifts her head off the floor though her arms remain down, her fingernails so deeply embedded in the carpet that he’s not sure she’ll ever wrestle them free. With her face up in the air, she can no longer hide her moans; they fill the office and Jon’s ears.

Jon wraps all her hair around one hand and reaches around to her mouth with the other. As his fingers brush her lips, she instinctively suckles on the tips. It makes him smile. “Your secretary,” he reminds her as he hits a particularly good spot inside of her which makes her legs spasm and her eyes roll back as she groans. “She will hear you.” He pushes his palm flat across her mouth, trapping her sounds and breathing behind it. His skin immediately grows wet from perspiration and her tongue persistently licks at his hand. He loves the feeling. It makes him fuck her with more fury.

Jon is groaning. He is sweating. His balls are tensing up. He needs to come soon, and so does Daenerys - the way she shivers around his cock tells him that she’s holding on for him. But not much longer. As he angles himself upwards, grinding his cock to a sweet spot across her inners, Daenerys lets go of a last pant to his palm and then comes.

Her orgasm makes her spine shiver. He can feel her tongue desperately push to his hand as she begs for air. Her nails claw across the fabric like a cat. Then, her cunt tightens around him, her whole body convulsing, and as he rolls his hips forward one last time, he knows he’s going to fill her with his seed.

He pulls his hands back to grab her arse. Daenerys’ gasps for air and collapses onto the floor. She’s a heaving mess, but she remains with her arse ready for him as he plunges into her cunt one last time and then comes.

Release is overwhelming. Jon shuts his eyes and moans. The sound comes from deep within him. He can feel his whole body tense as his balls pull up and sperm slips from his cock. He’s filling her. It’s like he won’t stop. He holds onto her for a minute, ensuring that every last drop of seed is fed to her tight inners before he pulls back and sits down on the carpet.

As his cock grows limp between his legs, he watches Daenerys flip onto her side, draw her legs close to her stomach, and let go of a shivering pant.

“Ohh,” she whimpers.

“Fuck,” Jon mumbles. Their eyes meet - Daenerys’ glasses bent in the middle from being pushed to the floor. They look like a V on her nose, and the sight alone almost makes him laugh. Perhaps she realises why, because a small smile takes over her lips too.

“Feel better?” she asks as she slowly pushes herself up sitting. She faces him, giving him perfect sight of her cunt. He’s fucked it pink. When she slips her knickers back over the labia, he almost asks her not to, because he’s not done staring.

His heartbeat is slowing down. He draws in a breath through his nose. Then he nods. “Better,” he agrees.

“I guess you got your wish,” Daenerys points out as she peels off her glasses. She looks at them, turning them between her hands with a slight scowl before casually throwing them in her bin. “Adultery can now be a ground for your divorce.”

For a second, Jon’s brows furrow in confusion. Then her words sink in. “You’re kidding me,” he whispers. He’s still too overwhelmed to shout, but everything in him wants to. Instead, he stares at Daenerys’ smug little face. “You fucked me for that? To give her a better reason to sue me?”

“Don’t be a fool,” Daenerys says. She looks down her shirt and fiddles with the missing buttons. It looks like she’s trying to salvage it. “I’ve fucked my client’s husband. I can no longer represent her. It would be a conflict of interest. In fact,” she looks up, meeting Jon’s confused eyes with a smirk, “it would not be appropriate for anyone in this firm to represent your wife.”

Jon pauses. “You’re dropping her?” he asks.

Daenerys gives up on her shirt and instead starts brushing her hair with her nails. She looks around for her elastic band. “We work with the Lannisters. Do you know the Lannisters?” She raises her eyebrows at Jon but doesn’t give him time to reply. “Since we’re closely affiliated, I don’t think it would be right for any attorney of that firm to represent her either.”

“You’re the two biggest firms,” Jon mumbles. He knows, because he couldn’t afford either, but Ygritte could afford both. Now, it seems neither will be an option to her, no matter the money in her account. He realises: “You helped me out.”

Daenerys sends him an innocent look. “Oh dear,” she says, “it seems like our little meeting will have far-reaching consequences. That’s unfortunate.”

“Why would you do that?” Jon asks, still stumped.

Daenerys gets to her feet. She walks around to her desk, opens her drawer, and retrieves a new band. As she pulls her locks into a ponytail, she eyes him gently. “I have three cats,” she says, “and if anyone ever tried to take them from me, I would kill them.”

Jon laughs. He can’t help himself. The whole situation is incredibly peculiar. By the time he gets to his feet, he’s still smiling. “I suppose I should thank you-” he starts, but Daenerys interrupts him:

“I did nothing. Your temper is the cause of all of this. I’m just taking the appropriate next steps.”

_She’s sly_ , Jon thinks. He senses at once that a single date with Daenerys would be much more thrilling than a lifetime with his ex-wife. He almost wants to ask, but he stops himself. _She’s a divorce attorney,_ he thinks. _Relationships are the last thing on her mind._

Daenerys takes a seat in her chair. Her tights are still ripped, her shirt still hangs open, and her makeup is smeared down her face. But she still reaches for her laptop and gives him a patient look. “If you’d excuse me, Mr Snow, I still have work to do before the end of the day.”

“Of course,” Jon says. He looks around and spots his jacket. He picks it up and drags it on, but when he can’t find his tie, he reaches for the door instead. His hand hesitates on the handle. He looks at Daenerys with pause. “Thank you,” he says, “for, eh, well, everything.”

“Do see my secretary on the way out,” Daenerys says. She glances up from her laptop screen and smirks. “She will set up a weekly meeting. I do believe we still have a lot to _discuss_.”

As Jon strolls out to Daenerys’ secretary, he knows he looks like trash; his shirt is sweaty and covered in lipstick, he’s missing his tie, and when he looks at his hands, he realises that they’re stinging red from when he spanked her. It’s no wonder the secretary gives him an odd look.

“When’s Miss Targaryen free?” Jon asks confidently and sends her a brilliant smile. “It’s for a private meeting.”

The woman looks him up and down. Then, she scoffs: “Private indeed,” and turns to her keyboard with a look of disgust.

It’s only then Jon notices his zipper and belt still hang open. He quickly does them up. He senses he should be embarrassed. Instead, he tingles with excitement. The future looks bright and full of conflicts of interest. He can’t wait to get in trouble with the law again.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Jonerys Kinkfest prompt hate!sex.
> 
> I don't know about you guys, but those drawings by DragonandDirewolf are just... wheeeww! I'm sweating.
> 
> For this story, I wanted to try out a new style - and I really enjoyed it! I hope you liked it too. This will be my last contribution to the Kinkfest, but more stories are to come in time. Until next time, stay safe and keep loving Jonerys. I know I will.


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